Forever and Always
by LaCerise
Summary: Till death do us part...that was the refrain he had carried in his heart for the past twenty years. But when Lady Luck cruelly separates them even after death, can love still be salvaged from the broken remnants of a memory of a love buried deep within?
1. Midnight Rendezvous

**Midnight Rendezvous**

The nights in the deserts of Jehanna were harsh and forlorn. Where temperatures reached a scorching 45 degrees Celcius during the day, at night the temperatures plunged to the polar opposites of less than –10 degrees Celcius.

His breath was coming out in puffs of white mist. His robes billowed in the wind. His hands were red and frostbitten. The gust sent rough grains of sand rubbing against his skin, his face. His lips were red and cracking from the loss of moisture. His eyes were tearing from the constant stream of sand and dust.

Still, the harshness of everything could not erase the smile on his face.

Oblivious to the pain from his the cracking skin on his lips, he smiled wider.

* * *

A gravestone stood, a lonely piece of marble, in the sea of yellow sand and brown stone.

It was not a great work of art, neither was it particularly outstanding in its sandy surroundings.

The marble bore a crudely-carved inscription, the words blurred from the years of weathering by the sand and the wind.

There was no picture on its surface, no intricate lettering, no elaborate detail adorning its plain surface with the nondescript scratch marks.

When somebody did happen to walk past the area, none of them gave a single glance to the little obscure piece of rock by their feet.

But did they know how painstakingly someone had carved out the words, gripping the chisel awkwardly in his untrained hands?

Did they know how someone had traveled thousands of miles to the oasis in the middle of the desert to find the most beautiful piece of marble he could find?

Did they ever stop to wonder how many tears had been shed upon the surface of the stone, giving it its pearly sheen?

Did anyone bother to try and read the blurring words carved out upon the stone and find out who was buried under their feet?

Did anyone ever know that with the burial of deceased, the heart of the living was buried alongside it, sealed forevermore under the sands, watched over by the stone?

* * *

The man was tall, lean and had a good figure. The black fedora he cast a shadow upon half his face, but as the moon cast its longing light upon the Earth, there was a hint of crows' feet at the corner of the man's eyes, little lines along the man's mouth and a tanned complexion that had started to sag with the progression of time.

His long red strands of hair were mixed with silvery-grey, thinning strands. The skin on his hands were rough, and the blue veins were starting to make their appearance on the backs of his hands, like small streams making their way across the land.

His robes were velvet green, dusty but rich. There were several insignificant loose strands at the seams. His fedora was worn, the fur forming little tufts at the corners. His boots were polished, comfortably neutral and a most dull shade of brown.

A long killing edge hung by his belt, the handle rough and worn from use. The blade gleamed under the moonlight, the edge polished to fine sharpness. In his hand was a shamshir, illuminated by the moon. The design and motifs on the handle was old, but it had been lovingly preserved through the ages, such that it retained its former luster. There was a name carved on the edge of the handle, but the characters were nearly smoothed out due to frequent touch.

* * *

_I won't need to leave today. I'm done back at the palace. _

The man knelt on one knee before the stone. His fingertips lightly caressed the letter 'M', one of the letters still vaguely visible.

_Alistair is all grown up. He will be able to manage everything that happens from now on. _

The man gave a little laugh.

_If anything, he will surpass me as a king in no time. He knows all the diplomatic rules, all 1001 of them, knows all the weird etiquette and excels at everything except singing, which is…pretty unfortunate but useless for a king, I guess. _

He stretched.

_At the coronation today, the people were pretty eager to get him up onto the throne. The entire bunch of them was cheering when I placed on the crown on his head. _

A furrow appeared momentarily between his brows.

_But…was I really that bad? I did try to manage all the small things happening around the country, reply all the letters, address everyone's concerns, attend almost everyone's weddings…Haha, maybe I was just a little too happy-go-lucky for a king…Lesson number 100004, never have a gambler as king._

He grinned.

_Remember that time I tried to decide on the solution to the irrigation by flipping a coin? Oh gosh, that must have really scared all the officials off. Luckily Lady Luck was by my side that day, and the coin landed heads. If we had implemented the 'tails' solution, I bet more than half of Jehanna would be facing water shortage problems today._

He traced the letter 'M' on the gravestone over and over again with his index finger.

_So many things have happened over the past few months. First Natasha died, then Gerik fell sick, quit mercenary work and came to work in the palace as an advisor, now Alistair's coronation and my abdication…Things happen fast I guess, and my lucky coin always seem to serve me well for decision-making._

He reached into his deep pockets and pulled out a coin. The edges were smoothened by age and time, but the surface caught the moonlight and glowed silver.

_Remember my lucky coin? Heh, I used it to decide the date of Alistair's coronation. As usual, it scared those poor uptight officials out of their minds. They must be really relieved that Alistair is coming up and he has not inherited any of my gambling streaks._

He tossed the shiny coin into the air and caught it in his right hand.

_But it was well that the coin chose today to be the day of coronation. The sun was shining mildly and there was even some amount of wind, unlike yesterday, which was scorching hot. I would have dried up like a fish in that weather, wearing those thick pieces of clothes they call ceremonial robes. It resembles the ragged pieces of cloth the maids use to wipe the table more than some former dress robes for royal and solemn occasions._

He stifled a yawn.

_I'm…a little tired today after standing for three solid hours undergoing the agony of the ceremony. I'll be going back now, then. You know I'll come back tomorrow. Good night…_

He stood up and prepared to walk away.

_Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. I'm not staying at the palace anymore. It's a little far away from here and you know how I dislike walking long distances by myself. It feels so lonely. It also shortens the time I have for you. Thus, I have decided to move, into your cottage._

He twirled his thumbs nervously, as though he had done something wrong.

_You know, it was…well…the closest piece of livable space to you that I could find. I already tidied things up a little and cleared up all the layers of dirt and dust accumulated for twenty years, and now it looks really clean and pristine! I…hope you don't mind that I'll be living in your house though. I promise to look after it and take good care of it for you, so don't you worry! _

He held up the shamshir.

_Look! I even brought your sword to hand it back on the wall, back where it always belonged. Yeah, I'm sure it'll look really good on our…I mean, your wall…Okay…now I'm really tired….sleepy…Hmm…goodnight…see you…_

He walked off, yawning.

…_tomorrow…_

Silence fell over the desert night again.

The only sound was the ever-so-faint sound of footsteps lightly and skillfully treading through sand, the lonely sounds of footsteps going further and further away.

* * *

He was rudely jerked from his dreams by a heavy pounding of the wooden door.

Cursing, he pulled the covers away from they had entangled his legs and slid out of the comfort of the bed.

Pulling open the door in annoyance, he squinted at the two armoured men at the door, wearing the royal crest of Jehanna on their breastplates.

"K-k-king Joshua!" Both of them were momentarily speechless at the sight of their former king in the small cottage. Their looks shifted from surprise to shock to confusion as they contemplated whether to continue standing and gaping like a pair of goldfish or prostrate themselves before their newly-abdicated king.

"What?" He huffed grumpily, running a hand through his hair.

"Ehh…" One of them nudged his companion. "We were instructed by your s-I mean, King Alistair to inform the occupant of this cottage…"

His companion blurted. "We never knew it was going to be you, King Joshua, or we would have waited at the door till you had risen comfortably…"

"…that this land would be used for developmental purposes in building in a new man-made oasis for the citizens of Jehanna-"

"What!" His eyes snapped open, wide open. He was suddenly wide awake. " And this cottage?"

"It would be…ehh…torn down…" the soldier shifted uncomfortably. "Along with everything in a vicinity of two miles in this area…"

"Everything?" His voice came out as a hollow whisper. He raised a trembling finger and pointed at a small grey piece of stone in the landscape outside the cottage. "Even…that…?"

The two soldiers exchanged a look of utter bewilderment. "Ehh…" In their eyes, it was a piece of rock, any ordinary piece of rock that could be found in any part of the world. "I suppose?"

* * *

Someone had just stabbed a sharp knife through his heart.

Wordlessly, he slid down alongside the door frame, collapsing onto the floor like a marionette with cut strings.

Twenty years…he had endured twenty years…before he could relish the feeling of being with her once more…and this was all he had? To move in for one night and receive news the next day that the entire area was going to be demolished? To come here in time to watch his former men dig up her broken body savagely, smash the gravestone he had painstakingly carved stroke by stroke?

_What happened? Why did Lady Luck do this to me? Why does fate continue to persist in playing tricks on the two of us? _

_Would destiny not grant us even the slightest amount of time to actually remember and cherish the love that we still have? \_

_Why was Lady Luck being so unfair to him whenever it came to love?_

_Why did she have to separate them twenty years ago?_

_Why does she still have to separate the two of us now? _

_Why? Why? Why?_

_WHY?_

With a anguished cry, he drew his sword.

The two soldiers scarcely had time to gasp before they were cut down, creating a bloody pool on the floor.

He fell on his knees, his body trembling from the sobs that he had suppressed for so many long years. Tears ran down his cheeks, dripping from his chin onto the wooden floor.

_Lady Luck, I placed my whole life's faith on you…yet…on the most important thing in my life, you keep on deceiving me…why? Why?_

_You've separated us with class status, with marriage, with social expectations…even death…yet, even after death, you still will not leave us to love each other?_

_Why?_

He slammed his fist repeatedly against the wooden floor, the tears falling faster, thicker.

_Why?_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**This is another story dedicated to my favourite couple Joshua and Marisa. I always think of their love as one that is tragic and always remain unrequited as long as one is a king and the other is a assassin who has had her hands stained by the blood of thousands of innocent souls. Hence, the story came into being.**

**I recommend reading this story with some sad music like Hwang Jin Yi-OST, which is Korean. Or for Chinese, try Liu Ruo Ying's Butterfly. For English, I think Within Temptation's Memories really suits the story.**

**Yes, it's not the end, this is likely to be a trilogy. Thanks for reading and please review!**


	2. Afternoon Confrontation

**Afternoon Confrontation**

If not for the slight rise and fall of the man's chest, many would have thought the stranger in the hat to be dead.

His eyes were closed tightly. His mouth hung open slightly. There was a shallow exchange of breath going in and out of his nose. His eyebrows were knitted together in a deep furrow.

One of his arms was draped over the insignificant grey marble jutting out from the yellow and brown sand, as though he was holding the stone to his side. His other arm gripped the handle of his sword tightly, the veins blue and glaring on his skin. His body was slumped limply against the piece of stone, as though he was protecting the stone from harm.

His face was ashen grey, resembling the shade of the marble. His hair tumbled down his back messily.

And there he had remained, ever since yesterday's dawn.

And there he would remain.

* * *

_They want to take down this place…them…my son…Alistair…they want to take down this place…your-no, our cottage…your garden…your grave…your gravestone…_

Small and white, a butterfly fluttered its wings delicately in the heat of the Sun, hovering above the hot desert sand, searching…seeking…

_But I can't let them do that. Never. NEVER. This is the only remaining link of you that I have left that is not lost in the sands of time. I can't give this place up. I can't…lose you again. I lost you twenty years ago; I lost you again fifteen years ago. If I let go of this last piece of you, I'll have nothing left. _

The butterfly slowed, a speck of white in the sea of yellow and brown. Its white wings moved slower as it descended gracefully.

_I was a fool once, twice; but I won't be a fool trice. I was a gambler, a superficial idiot twenty years ago, but I won't let that happen again. I know where my happiness lies and I know what I truly want. I won't let anything get in the way of my happiness. Not even my son and his grandiose plans._

Its thin legs treaded lightly upon the tanned skin with its dense network of valleys and hills of shallow wrinkles and blue veins. Its wings caught the light.

_I'll protect you and your body. I promise. Fifteen years ago, I was helpless to do anything to help you. But today, I am fully equipped to protect you. I'll make up for everything that I had owed you in the last twenty years. I'll protect you with my sword, with my status, with my body. If I really need to…I'll defend you with my life._

The iridescent scales on the wings glimmered under the sunlight, giving the appearance of polished crystals. With a gentle shake of its body, the butterfly unfurled its proboscis.

_You believe in me, don't you? I…I know I don't deserve your trust…after what had happened in the past…but I've changed! I have really changed! I am going to defend you and I mean it! So please…would you…believe in me once more? I swear, I'll never break any of my promises to you…If you would just let me…once would be enough…I'll prove to you…_

The tip of the proboscis lightly brushed against the surface of the wrinkled hand, tracing the path between the valleys and the mountains on the skin.

The man raised his head slowly. His red pupils bore into the butterfly.

_Is this a sign? Is it a sign from you? This butterfly…it's remarkable…I…I don't know how to describe it, but…it almost feels like you…_

With a flick of its wings, the butterfly launched into flight again.

The man's eyes were red-rimmed, and his gaze followed the small creature as it grew smaller and smaller, till it was indistinguishable from a speck of dust.

_The same feeling…_

* * *

"Father."

The voice was crisp, sharp, cutting, polished and carried an air of superiority. The irritation in the tone was barely disguised by the pompous manner the speaker had enunciated the word.

He looked up wearily.

"Son."

The voice was tired, sorrowful, disappointed, but carried an unmistakable tinge of silently controlled fury and a certain degree of wariness, as though the speaker was addressing the other party with measured caution.

Alistair, nineteen years of age, was tall, lean and in the prime of his life. He had inherited the daffodil yellow hair from his mother, his crystal blue eyes from his mother, his small classic nose from his mother and his sharp chin from his mother. The only thing he had ever inherited, or learnt, from his father were the skills with a sword, the stubbornness and the long-lasting memory.

He had developed the penchant for chivalry, the false Rausten accent and his flair for governing and making decisions entirely on his own.

Said son inclined his head downwards so as to glance at his father, as though he was looking at a common abandoned dog on the streets begging for a scrap or two.

"Well, father…what is this I hear about two of our soldiers from the esteemed royal guard division 12 being murdered in cold blood yesterday morning?"

He did not reply. He knew it was his own fault, but the news had made him so distraught that he had momentarily lost his senses and caused him to accidentally kill two innocent people.

"It was…an accident…"

"An accident you say?" Alistair arched a graceful and finely-shaped golden yellow eyebrow. "I apologise for contradicting you, father, but my team from the royal investigation squad seems to think otherwise, that it was caused by the work of the former king of Jehanna." He paused, a twisted smile appearing on his face. "What do _you_ think, father?"

He knew Alistair was baiting him, luring him like how one would lure a bear at the circus with a piece of meat and taunt it with stones and sticks.

"What do you _want_, son?"

Alistair shrugged his brocaded shoulders and examined his well-manicured fingernails. "I believe that that was very clear from the very beginning." Using a finger, the nail tapered like a French point, he drew an imaginary boundary all around the area. "I just want this place to build an oasis, for the people of Jehanna."

He laughed. It was not a hearty laugh. It was a bitter, acid laugh. "I've read the maps before, Alistair. You can't fool me. There is no source of water within a ten mile radius of this area. And you want to want to build an oasis here?"

The shoulders clothed in rich embroidered brocade shrugged again. "Anything's possible. My royal water advisory team has devised a method to change the course of the nearest river and direct it here to create an oasis."

He felt his teeth clench involuntarily. "You could have done so anywhere else. The nearest village is miles away. No one resides here. Few even pass by here. So for the location of an oasis, why must it be_ here_?"

Another rise and fall of the royal shoulders. "Because I want to develop this place into a major city. Because this place has a nice scenery. Because I think it would help Jehanna in the long run. Because I feel it is necessary. Because I am king. Is that enough reason for you?"

"You are abusing your power!" He leapt to his feet. "I regret giving the throne to you so early. You're still childish, immature and rash, making decisions because of selfish reasons or because of a sudden whim. What have I done…"

"I don't make decisions on whims!" Alistair whirled around to face him. His steel blue eyes bored into red ones. A cruel smile adorned his face. "I had been planning for this for fifteen years…fifteen long years I have waited to destroy this place…to burn this place to smoking grey ashes, to drown this land in a flood of blue water, to reduce this land to a barren patch of dust…" He laughed. "A whim? Oh no, father, never a whim!"

He paled. _Fifteen years? Fifteen years…_

_Fifteen years!_

"You-you-you knew?" His voice came out in a short gasp. Everyone had thought that Natasha and he were the world's model royal couple. He had never guessed that his son had known everything.

"Oh, of course I knew…I'm your flesh and blood…how could I not know?" Alistair smirked. "I heard you instructing that man-now Advisor Gerik- to report news about the mysterious woman and to look after her for you. You would find him every time he was going to leave after dinner, every time he left after staying a night in the palace. You thought mother and I were deaf, didn't you?"

His grin widened. "I remember that day clearly, when Adivsor Gerik hammered on the gates of the palace at night, carrying a body. He was soaked from the rain, and so was the body he was carrying. You sent mother and I away, and you took the body to your room. It was a woman, pale from death, but still beautiful. She had flaming pink hair, wore dark clothes and high boots. She would never have been as beautiful as mother, but you! You treated her like she was the deity of the world, the light of your life! You held her limp hand, you stroked her wet hair, you shed tears upon her white cheek, you cradled her lifeless body, and you! You kissed her cold lips! You! You! You would rather love a dead woman than mother!"

The formal Rausten accent had turned into a frenzied scream as torrent after torrent of scathing words fell from his lips. His manicured hands were all over the place, forming gestures no one could comprehend. His blond hair was strewn across his face by the wind.

"You thought no one was looking, didn't you? You thought you were so clever, weren't you? But I was there, oh yes, I was behind the door, watching your every move in shock, horror and disgust. I realized that day, that very minute, that you did not love mother. Not a whit of tender feelings you had for mother. Then you carried her in your arms and stole away from the castle. I was behind, in a tiny cloak, shivering from the cold, but very much alert. I saw you walk, all the way, and I followed, all the way, till you came here, and started digging a hole. I made my way back before dawn, hoping to ask you when you returned. But you didn't return, not until an entire week later, as though nothing had happened. Mother didn't say anything, but did you know how much tears she had shed when you were gone? I was furious. I swore to myself, that I would one day destroy that woman's grave for mother."

The spittle forming at the corners of his mouth foamed. His eyes were wild, furious, pained, agonised. His hands were clenched into fists. The words continued pouring out of his mouth like a river swollen with the spring rains.

"Oh, you thought mother and I were both fools, huge fools. But you were wrong. Mother knew everything, and so did I. Then, not so long ago, Mother passed away. Yet, what did you do? Ask the advisors to organize a grand funeral, attend the funeral in black robes, and then return to your papers and manuscripts as though nothing had happened. Did you shed a drop of tear for mother? Did you caress mother's cheek? Did you pat mother's hand? Did you kiss mother's lips? No! Never! You looked at her body and left with the look that you would wear facing a stranger's body! From that moment on, I hated you, disdained you, despised you! It strengthened my will to destroy that woman's grave, and now that I am king, nothing will stop me from fulfilling my last act of respect for mother."

He spun around from where he was raising his hands to the skies and jabbed a finger at his father.

"Not even you."

* * *

As he watched his son walk away, an arrogant spring in his steps, he felt numb. The pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, yet the picture had fallen into pieces. The more pieces were filled, the more broken their royal families' picture of harmonious bliss became.

His son's warning that he would be back tomorrow to demolish the area officially still resounded in his ears.

He had a deceased wife who he did not love, a son consumed by hatred, a woman he had always loved and never been able to be with, and a bleak future that comprised of total darkness and haunting shards of smashed grey marble.

It was all his fault.

No, it was all Lady Luck's fault.

It was both his fault and Lady Luck's fault. Lady Luck had cruelly given him the wrong sign. He was a fool for believing in the sign.

To think that one wrong choice made one breezy afternoon twenty years before would have made such a significant difference today…

* * *

**And thus this concludes the second chapter of the trilogy. Yes, Alistair is kind of like an antagonist in this story. I don't believe the theory that you have a gorgeous dad you'll have a gorgeous son. Heck, look at Eliwood. Roy practically needs a permanent escort (aka Marcus). And Pent, father is awesome, son looks awesome but that's about it. Thus, I think Joshua is so awesome, to balance it all out a little the son should be a little more flawed.**

**Yup, to address any queries anyone may have. Yes, Joshua married Natasha and they had a kid. **

**Next chapter would be the conclusion, and I have a good mind to change the genre from romance to angst. Thanks for reading and please review! XD**


	3. Daybreak Tempest

**Daybreak Tempest**

The first golden rays of dawn were peeking from the horizon, casting a golden shone upon the vast desert of sand.

The shiny marble caught the sunlight, and it too was illuminated, giving off a soft glow.

The man's head rose slowly, and he looked towards the Sun. There was fear, anger, grief and pain in his eyes. Desperation and horror tinged the air and the sand around him.

The man was stroking a blade. The rays of sunlight shone upon the shiny blade of the sword.

It was dawn.

It was time.

* * *

_Joshua sat down heavily upon the log, his face serious, his gaze unwavering. The plate of dinner he held in his hand seemed entirely forgotten. _

"_I think…I'm in love…"_

_Beside him, Gerik spat out the mouthful of beans that he had been chewing with such force that some landed onto the plates of a very disgusted Amelia and a very disgruntled Franz. "What!"_

_That was an exclamation, not a question._

"_Natasha…she…told me she loved me…" Joshua blinked. "I think…I'm in love with her…"_

_Gerik hastily apologized to the disturbed couple sitting across him, then raised an eyebrow in Joshua's direction. "You think?"_

"_I do!" Joshua exclaimed, jumping up from the log. "Each time I see her, my heart beats faster, I find myself more flirtatious than usual, and the temperature of the surroundings soar miraculously. She's beautiful, kind, generous, gorgeous, graceful, polite, regal…"_

_Gerik coughed. He generally did not enjoy hearing other men lament about women. It made them sound a little…less manly than what he would have liked. "So you think you're in love with her?"_

"_Yeah!" Joshua nodded vigorously, his face completely devoid of humour. "I wasn't sure at first, but then Lady Luck told me that my feelings were genuine. I flipped my coin, without rigging it, and it turned out as heads! And I knew that I hadn't made the wrong choice. I…love her as much as you love Tethys…I really do…and even Lady Luck says so!"_

_Gerik grinned and patted Joshua heavily on the back, before elbowing him in the stomach playfully. "Huh! Caught yourself a beauty, haven't ya? You lucky man!"_

He was naïve, he was innocent, he was completely mistaken about the concepts of love. But he too, was blind.

_His palms were sweating. _

_Ignoring the uncomfortable growling of his stomach from the fluttering butterflies that had mysteriously sprouted within his abdomen, Joshua cleared his throat as he faced the scrutiny of the entire army._

"_Uhh…well…I have decided…to ehh…marry Natasha…" He grinned as he finished the sentence with a squeeze of his fiancée's hand._

_The contingent erupted into cheers, catcalls, hoots, loud cries of congratulations and several suggestive winks courtesy of Gerik._

He was blind, blind to her tears, her pain, her masked feelings.

"_Hey!" He pulled up the flap of the tent, hoping to find the pink-haired assassin that he had spent the last three days hunting for. _

"_Oh, Joshua!" Tethys looked up from where she was organizing her many accessories. "Are you looking for Marisa?" She smiled knowingly at his nod. "She left the army three days ago. She handed her letter of resignation to Lord Ephraim, packed her stuff and disappeared."_

_Joshua groaned. "She promised to come with me to Jehanna and be my permanent training partner so that we can both polish each other's skills. Now she's trying to back out from our agreement?"_

_Tethys shrugged gracefully. "She is pretty reserved, and none of us knew what was on her mind. But she did leave this for you." _

_He tore open the letter Tethys handed him. In it was three words._

"_I loved you."_

Loved…he wondered just how long it had taken her, a person who could hardly use verbal speech to express her feelings, to write down those three words.

_That instant, he felt an instant pang of guilt. _

_They had done so much together. They had sparred together, faced off massive draco zombies together, ate their meals together, conversed together about their past lives of being mercenaries together, watched the sunset and sunrise together…_

_A warm feeling was stirring within his breast. He recalled her expressionless face as he had held Natasha's hand, he pictured her sitting down with the pen in her trembling hand, he saw her giving the letter to a surprised Tethys with her face in a constricted mask, he imagined her leaving the camp, shamshir in one hand, her scanty belongings in a bag over her shoulder, a long lonely shadow swallowed by the darkness of the night. _

_He regretted not finding her earlier. _

He regretted too not going to find her after discovering her absence.

_The second week after the wedding, both of them realized that their marriage was doomed to fail. _

_She was exasperated by his easy-going ways, his lack of seriousness, his flirtatiousness, his inability to sit still and concentrate, his lack of concern for formal occasions and attires, his impossibly incorrigible habit of turning everything into a bet or a gamble, and his insane love for doing 'time-wasting, unconstructive' activities such as watching the sunrise and sunset._

_He was appalled by her strait-laced ways of doing things, her absolute devotion to justice and righteousness, her inflexibility, her constant reminders for him to listen to the few residents of Jehanna who were squabbling over ownership of a pigeon for the eighth time in a week, her persistence in aiding everyone and everything that crossed her path, her admiration towards Seth of Renais and her consistent face of melancholy every time he failed to do something that she wanted him to do 'for the benefit of the people of Jehanna'. _

_The people had survived for six million years without him and would survive another six million years with or without him as a king._

_He was already trying his best, so could she stop asking him to look at Seth of Renais and attempt to copy Seth's every single action?_

They had kept up appearances in formal occasions and in front of the servants. They were politely distant and genial towards each other, but both of them understood that it was over, and that their marriage had failed from day one.

_Everyday, without fail, he would watch the sunset and the sunrise in the garden. _

_Sometimes, when the flowers in the garden bloomed, he would be surrounded by a heavenly fragrance that seemed to erase all his frustrations at his life, at his wife, at his newborn son and most of all, at himself. _

_He would think back to the times when he was still free, single, sitting in the groves of trees or grass patches, watching the sun dip below the horizon. He remembered her sitting across him, stretched out on her stomach on the grass, hands propping up her chin, watching the sunset silently. _

"_Doesn't it bore you?" He had asked. "I never thought you would like doing these types of things." _

"…_It's beautiful." She had replied. "I think…everyone should watch it…to understand the beauty of the world around us…"_

He had missed her insanely. Once, he had wondered what it would have been like if he had married her instead of Natasha.

It had been a random thought, a crazy idea, a strange impulse. But once it had gone into his mind, he could not shake it out, no matter how hard he tried.

_He ran out of his room, through the corridors, through the double doors, into the garden, down the pathways, out of the gates, into the streets and into the market. _

_He stopped panting, before the small fruit stall, and glanced around wildly. _

_Except for the mountains of colourful luscious fruits and a rather stunned and bewildered stall owner, he did not see the one he had wanted to see. _

_There was no sign of the pink hair, the pale skin or the short robes. Neither was there any sign of a gleaming shamshir blade._

_The fruit seller had not seen anyone of that description. _

_Cursing softly, he walked back towards the castle. Had he just dreamed that that had happened? _

He had secretly asked Gerik to track and look after Marisa for him the day the hero had gone to the palace for dinner as an invited guest.

Gerik was surprised, but he understood. From then on, there was a constant supply of information about the Crimson Flash arriving on his desk, and Gerik became a regular at the royal dining table.

_Gerik slammed his hands onto Joshua's desk. "Joshua, look at me and tell me truthfully. Do you love her?"_

_He shrugged. "Of course I love my wife. She's the most incredible woman I have met in my life and I am glad beyond words to have married her-"_

"_Cut the rubbish, Joshua!" Gerik thundered angrily. "You know whom I am referring to, and I know you love her, otherwise you won't be asking me to do this for you!"_

"_I am concerned for her, but concern and love are two very different things, Gerik, I hope you have realized," Joshua lied smoothly. _

_Gerik sighed. "Fine, you wouldn't admit it, right? I wouldn't be your spy any longer. I refuse to work for you just to see you hurting yourself, your wife, and my best friend." He walked out of the room, breathing heavily._

_At the door, he turned. "Do you know she still loves you?"_

_Joshua shrugged again, even though his heart gave a little jump. He had to use all of his restrain to prevent himself from leaping to his feet and beg Gerik to take him to see her._

"_You'll regret this someday, Joshua. I know you will."_

He did regret it.

If he had confessed his feelings for her there and then to Gerik, maybe Gerik would have been able to convey the message, and she would return to his side. Maybe they could wait for each other, until Alistair grew up into a man, and then they could enjoy each other's company at last.

But by the time he had worked everything out, it had been too late.

_He held out his arms, trembling in shock, pale from horror, and solemn from grief. _

_The body in his arms was drenched from the heavy rain, but was lighter than what he expected._

_At this late hour, the corridors of the palace were deserted. Carefully, he carried the body into his room and placed her on his bed._

_She was limp, and her pale skin was crusted with dried blood. She had grown thinner, and her lips were deathly pale. _

_He traced the wounds on her arms, legs, the fatal injury done to her abdomen. Using a piece of moist warm cloth, he gently sponged the dried blood from pale skin. Stroking her hair, he held her cold hand tightly in both of his, rubbing them as though the friction would cause her to revive. Hands shaking, he reached out to touch her cheek. The skin was icy cold, but smooth to the touch._

_She was…like an angel…so beautiful even though her body had been marred by so many cuts and injuries…_

_He grabbed her and held her to him, clinging onto her cold body like a drowning man clinging to a straw. She was so small, so frail, so fragile… Why hadn't he noticed it before? _

_Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks. He didn't bother to stifle the sobs that were causing tremors of grief to rack through his body. Gently, he kissed her cold lips. _

_There was nothing to be done. She had died. She was separated from him forever. _

"_I was too late…" Gerik had said with red-rimmed eyes. "But her last words were for you. She said…tell Joshua I love him…"_

_Why hadn't he followed Gerik's advice?_

_He was furious, furious at the world, furious at himself. He was disappointed, disappointed in life, disappointed in his own judgment. The whole world seemed to have crashed down upon him, fallen into pieces. Everything had been a farce, only she had been real. And now, she too was gone, broken, vanished._

_His world had shattered._

He loved her. And he had lost her.

Because of his own idiocy, blindness, ignorance, shallowness, inconsideration, stubborn faith in luck, he had lost her.

Not once, but twice.

But never again.

* * *

Alistair was true to his word. He arrived with a large army of roughly thirty men, armed to the teeth. He himself carried a heavy double-handed sword with double edges.

The sun was a flaming orb in the sky, casting its radiant light upon them.

With a swift wave of the king's hand, the men positioned themselves so that they formed a circle around Joshua, weapons outstretched and pointing towards him.

Joshua stared coldly at the snipers stretching their silver bows, swordmasters waving their killing edges, generals holding their silver lances, berserkers with their silver axes slung over their shoulders, the bishops with their glowing staffs, the valkyries atop their horses, staffs pointing towards him, the summoners with their troops of ghostly pale phantoms before them and the sages with their books in the crook of their arms, eyebrows knitted in concentration.

The tension in the air was thicker than syrup.

Without warning, the armed men charged towards the lone figure in the figure, in one synchronized fluid motion.

It was shameful. Thirty odd armed men laden with armour and strong weaponry were attacking a single lone person armed with love and one killing edge.

Gracefully, Joshua lifted his sword and warded off the first blow from a berserker. Even after twenty years, his skills had not tarnished. His movements were still swift but strong, his strokes light but deadly.

The first person fell, then another, and another…

_Was love always so bloody?_

Smiling bitterly, he dodged the blast of thunder fired by one of the sages, before he knocked the heavy tome out of the sage's hands, cleaving the book into four in midair.

Pieces of yellowed paper flew all of the air, catching fire as they burned. Their ashes scattered over the sand, leaving behind the spicy odour of smoke and incense.

"Now!" Alistair shouted.

All of a sudden, Joshua found himself swamped by the bodies of four bulky beserkers. He was trapped on all four sides, leaving him nowhere to escape. They clamped their hands onto his hands and shoulders and held him in an iron grip.

No matter how good one's skills with a sword was, one could not escape from a human prison where one's hands are held fast.

He struggled. He tried twisting himself free. He attempted kicking the beserkers holding him prisoner. He clawed at the sweaty hands of his guards. He cursed his son for thinking of a dirty trick instead of fighting outright.

Alistair laughed, waving the heavy sword tauntingly in the air. "Watch me, o father, don't even blink." He raised the sword high above his head.

With a sneer, with Joshua's cry of despair, he swung the sword down upon the gravestone.

The resounding crack was drowned by Joshua's tormented cries.

The soldiers gasped.

Alistair frowned. Marble was strong, but not _that_ strong.

Cracks were already forming on the surface of the marble. Tiny pieces were beginning to fall down in small chips. A large piece was gouged out where the sword blade had smashed against the stone. But the stone still held.

With a deep furrow between his brows, Alistair swung the sword over his head again, higher this time.

"No!"

Alistair swung the sword down.

The soldiers watched in horror as their former king, who had somehow struggled out of the beserkers' grips, speed towards the sword, his own sword outstretched.

Alistair watched in horror as his sword sped down to earth, not onto stone, but onto the sword of his father.

Joshua watched in horror as the sword of his son slammed into his own sword with such force that would have shattered his wrists.

The killing edge shattered.

Pieces of broken metal spewed the area, some sinking into flesh, some sinking into the sand.

Joshua collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut, onto the gravestone, an eerie smile on his face.

The red sticky liquid seeped into the sand, staining the yellow grains the colour of dark blood.

Alistair staggered, a look of pure shock. Trembling, he lifted his red hands, stained with the blood of his own father. Opening his mouth in a silent scream, he flung away the hilt of his broken sword and flopped down mutely, uselessly on the sand, oblivious to the blood seeping into his royal robes.

The soldiers were silent with horror.

* * *

He opened his eyes a fraction.

His chest, surprisingly, after having had a hole made into it, did not hurt. Neither were his arms or legs aching from weariness. Neither was his head spinning from his loss of blood.

A figure stepped over and stood beside his body. He recognized the flaming pink hair, the pale complexion, the deep and intense eyes.

_Joshua._

Was this real? What was real? What was false? Did it matter if this really was another dream of his? She was so real, standing before him with a softened expression and a glowing complexion.

It was as though…she had never died in the first place.

After so long…he finally saw her again…A single warm tear ran down his cheek. "Marisa…"

She smiled, but did not reply. Her smile, after so many achingly long years, was like the sun on a winter morning, warm and inviting, radiant and beautiful.

"I missed you, Marisa. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry for what happened in the past. Will you forgive me for all that I once did? I-"

She brushed her lips against his, like a feather, light and delicate, effectively silencing him.

It was a simple touch of their lips…but it brought the tears to his eyes. It was…the testimonial that she still loved him, that even after twenty years, their love could still shine through, that twenty years of waiting was worth it.

It gave him the courage, for his sacrifice was worth every drop of blood he had shed.

It gave him the faith, for it showed that love could transcend beyond the boundaries that ordinary human beings could see and feel.

It gave him the joy, for after twenty years, he finally felt the light returning to his eyes, the shadow of darkness fading from his heart.

When they pulled apart, he saw the tearstains glistening on her cheeks, but his own cheeks were wet with her tears.

Was it her first kiss? From the warm pink-tinged blush that had slowly crept onto her cheeks, he had indeed just stolen her first kiss.

Flushing a deeper shade of red, she attempted to pull away from his grip.

"Marisa, where are you going? Take me with you…" He demanded. There was no way he could envision returning to his life without her.

"…" She looked torn, reluctant, as though she had intended to leave him again by himself.

He gripped her shoulders tighter. "I'm certain. Take me with you." The words left his mouth as a command, not a request. She would _have_ to take him along with her, or he would follow her to the ends of the Earth, pursuing her relentlessly until both of them were together once again.

Hesitantly, she nodded and extended her hand, which he grabbed immediately and held on tightly.

That was one thing that once he held on, he would never let it go again.

Her hand was soft and pliant, like the petals of a lily.

Grasping his hand, she guided his hand to stroke the surface of the gravestone. He stared at her, puzzled, as his hand traced over the crude letter 'M' carved into the marble.

She gave him a reassuring smile.

Initially, the marble remained a piece of cold grey lifeless stone. Then, the marble began glowing, a soft pearly sheen, under his touch. It grew less solid, and gradually grew warmer to his touch. Softly, the light shimmered and glistened under the morning rays of the Sun, pulsating bright flashes of energy. Then with a grandiose burst of light, thousands of butterflies burst forth from what was originally the gravestone.

He felt himself lifted from the ground, supported by a multitude of coloured wings. The butterflies fluttered beside him, alongside him, guiding him. He was surrounded by a myriad of colours – emerald green, sea blue, flaming red, rose pink, snow white, jet black, lavender purple…The butterflies seemed to be creating some ethereal music with their wings, and although he could not decipher what it was, he could not help smiling at the spectacle around him.

A butterfly landed on his hand, clasped tightly in hers. Gently, it tapped its translucent proboscis on their clasped hands, as though sending them its well wishes and blessings.

_Joshua…I've missed you…_

"Marisa…" He shook his head lightly. "Do you think I didn't miss you…all those long lonely nights without you by my side…now that I think of them, I wonder how I managed to survive…"

She gently traced the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the faint lines framing his mouth, the slight furrows in his forehead. Removing his fedora, she gently combed a hand through his hair…

"I'm old right?" He laughed. He must look ridiculous in his age, standing beside her everlasting beauty. Self-consciously, he brushed his hand through his thick hair and tried to straighten out the frown-lines between his brows.

_You're never old Joshua…in my eyes…you'll never be old..._

"But I must look like a elderly man standing beside you," he grinned. "People will think I am pedophilic…"

Just as the words left his mouth, he caught his complexion in one of the reflections cast by the butterflies' wings. His face was smooth, free of wrinkles, young and shone with youth. He hair was think and glossy once more, the strands cascading down his back like a rich vibrant red waterfall.

_You never did and never will, Joshua…_

"Does this mean…I get to spend the rest of life with you…"

_If you are willing to…_

It was not a time for words. He held her hands tightly in his and turned her around to face him, then returned the favour. Tenderly, he brought his lips upon hers, as though afraid of bruising her mouth.

Amidst the dancing butterflies, they gently held each other in a locked embrace.

* * *

Rumours were that King Alistair killed his father, and everyone who had witnessed his act of shame. Otherwise, why had all the thirty men he had led to the middle of the desert mysteriously disappeared on the day King Joshua vanished?

However, despite the mysteries surrounding his tense and broken relationship with his father, King Alistair grew to be a good king, loved by his people, respected by the other nobles. Under his leadership, Jehanna grew into a strong empire that traded vast amounts of raw metals and materials and specialized in training swordmasters for battle and mercenary purposes.

People also exchanged stories after a pair of tragic lovers who had died in each others' embrace in the middle of the desert. Where there had once been barren land, sand and stones, there was now an oasis that had sprung from a previously unknown underground aquifer.

No one was certain about the origins of the aquifer, but many speculated that the spring was the product of the eternal love of the tragic couple. Plants had spouted around the rich moist soils around the oasis, and flowers of all colours bloomed. It became a legendary haven for travelers, who often stopped to marvel at the scenery and refresh themselves before continuing.

Travellers had many differing theories about the oasis. Some said that it was hauntingly beautiful in the morning, with the morning dew adorning the leaves and petals of the flora, grey mist coating the area. Some said it was the most charming at night, when all the petals were closed demurely, the soft moonlight shining upon their waxy surfaces.

But most agreed that it was best to visit at dusk and dawn, for if one kept quiet enough, and watched close enough, one could see the shadowy figures of a man and a woman sitting at the other side of the oasis, watching the sun with their hands entwined.

* * *

**Fin.**


End file.
